


paradox

by ToasTea



Series: with the stars and us [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, he was just napping, missandei x greyworm if you squint, missy and dany have girl talk cause they can, what do you mean he died
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 06:57:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19290559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToasTea/pseuds/ToasTea
Summary: The unspoken affection between a queen and her knight has festered for long enough.Post 8x03 fix-it.





	paradox

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NZEbZiWMdGE) song.
> 
> This was not beta'd. Sorry for any grammatical/spelling errors.

The feast was a memory she could do without.

Bellowing jeers, the clink of glasses filled to the brim with drink, the lingering scent of smoke left behind by the funeral pyre had yet untangled itself from their bittersweet victory. In contrast to the cold beyond the castle walls, the large hall was warmed by a fresh fire, the candles littered across the dining tables further illuminated the faces of those who had people to love - people to celebrate with.

Yet there she sat, a foreign ruler. Alone in a land with people who offered her nothing but wary looks, eyes and whispers not of gratitude for winning a war that was not hers but distrust. She had given her children, her army, her bear-

Her fierce bear, who stood between her and danger and took every blade meant for her. Her heart, the very beat that pumped strength and courage through her time and time again, a ringing in her ear that pulsed an unspoken plea and dutifully willed her to pick up a blade and fight alongside him, to protect him. Her constant, whose very presence rooted her to the alluring, gentle nature when she strayed from the path.

Yes, she had sacrificed _nearly everything_  - yet they rewarded her with a coldness that gnawed at her heart harder than the bitter evening outside.

The insistent hollering from Tormund, clearly under influence, was enough of an influence for her to leave.

_"What kind of person climbs on a fucking dragon? A madman, or a King?"_

Daenerys briskly vacated her seat after taking a sip of her wine, as if the strength of its harsh taste would give her just enough to walk away before her knees gave in to the dull ache in her heart. She would not give these northerners more to talk about.

Jon Snow would find her long after her hasty departure, concern etched in his features. Yet there was something else there, hidden in the depths of his brown eyes.

It was a name. A lineage. A reality she buried within the recesses of her mind, lost amidst the adrenaline of war only to be forcefully resuscitated by the bittersweet calm that followed. A truth that sent everything she had fought for, endured for, lived for spiraling down to the earth.

She had been raped, defiled and sold like a brood mare. She carried herself with faith - faith in Daenerys Stormborn, faith in the small circle of confidants she held close. 

But behind the armor that shielded the conqueror lies the gentle heart of a woman who had lost and nearly lost too much in too little time. 

Daenerys was his queen. Jon had resigned his claim to throne, but the northerners would not. He was  _loved_  by them. His assurances did little to lift the weights from her shoulders. Her army diminished along with the strength to reclaim the throne from Cersei. The people here did not love her nor will they make room for her in their hearts. Her claim seemingly lost to a male heir. The wavering loyalty in Varys' gazes. The hesitation reflected in the eyes and actions of her Hand. It was too much.

Born beneath the ashes of victory was another war she faced, this time alone. There was no army, no magic in the Seven Kingdoms that could help her. Silently, she fights to keep the storm of emotions at bay, their relentless assault almost overwhelming for her already bruised heart. How much longer could she last?

Jon had taken notice of her distress. He placed his hand on her shoulder and gently pulled her into an embrace.

His comfort lacked the intimacy that once flared between them, perhaps washed away by a newfound familial connection. His whispers of love, whispers of resigning the Iron Throne by the shell of her ear aimed to strengthen his balm. Once upon a time, his breath and nearness would leave her knees shaking, igniting a desire that coiled in her belly. Now?

Now with the disdainful glares from people who will never love her - tolerate, maybe - but never love, the loneliness, the loss, the near-loss, the distrust, the fear...

...yes. It was indeed too much. Too powerful for any form of rationale a queen demanded.

Even the touch of the man she bore her entire being to couldn't alleviate the pain. She flinched away as if his arms were wildfire.

The unburnt  _burned._  

She felt sorrow prick her, watching the slight hurt furrow his brows. She tore his gaze from him in an attempt to keep herself from carrying another emotional burden.

 _"Lyanna Mormont once told me,"_  he said, " _every man from Bear Island fights with the strength of ten mainlanders."_

She stiffened, her back still facing Jon. She knew exactly who the wolf spoke of, her eyes sewing shut as the image of _him_ surfaced. His dirty blonde hair that curled at the nape of his neck, peppered with gray, the strength in his jawline, his straight nose, eyes bluer than the sky itself and deeper than the Sunset Sea, his slight yet strong form, an ever so rare and soft smile that brought her more warmth to her than dragon fire.

Though brief, that small flicker carried a monumental level of comfort she desperately savored that dissipated just as quickly. Was it so easy to see? Was it always so easy to see?

_"I don't know Ser Jorah well...but I know his strength well enough. He is strong. Even the dead couldn't take him."_

His words only served as a sip for her chapped heart. If the army of the dead couldn't take him, she knew exactly what else could - a hidden enemy that felled even someone as fierce as Khal Drogo.

She gave no further voice to her thoughts and turned just enough to give him a nod of thanks.

She left under the promise that they would talk about their lineage more at a later time. For now, it was their secret to share.

Daenerys needed mending. She wasn't the only one, though. They all did - Winterfell, what little remained of her army, her council, Jorah...

It would be another agonizing day before she could traverse the path she had long closed her eyes to before.

* * *

 

A slight chill brought her back to the present. Daenerys turned to the hearth to see the fire mustering its last remnants. She stood from her seat, her muscles faltering a bit from the ache of sitting in the same position for too long before making her way to the fire place. She knelt as she fed the dying heat with the provided wood until it flickered to life again. She remained there for a bit, basking in its revived warmth, her gaze lingering on the embers. She saw the bodies of the fallen lined alongside each other on the wooden pallets, the flare of Dothraki arakhs, the trench surrounding Winterfell aflame, Drogon's pained wails as the undead clamored on top of her child, wights that closed in on them.

She saw Jorah. 

She saw him take blade after blade for her. She watched him stand for her despite wounds that no other man could endure. She saw him draw strength from his devotion, felt it with every swing of his sword. When the dead had finally fallen, she saw him collapse. The life rapidly draining from his eyes, the cold seeping into his skin as she held him-

Daenerys released a shaky breath she had unknowingly been holding and returned to her seat before her thoughts could further linger on the long night. 

Enough of that. She will be his constant, as he is hers.

Her gaze drew to the steady rise and fall of his chest, a sign of life that is keeping her heart tethered to this world. He was covered in heavy bandages that trailed beneath the furs keeping him warm. She lifted her hand to his forehead to check for a fever.

Samwell had done all he could days ago. The poor boy was all over the place following the battle, sweat decorated his brow as he fought to save the wounded knight.

 _"He lost a lot of blood_ ," Sam said,  _"I did my best, Your Grace. For him to make it to the next morn and the one after that without the risk of infection...will be up to him."_

His words echoed within her thoughts, a stern reminder that her bear still teeters between life and death. She had witnessed the silent strength an infection held as it had brought down her Khal. 

No, she would not be relying on witches or Gods this time. She would not make the mistake again. Instead, she relied on faith - faith in her, faith in Jorah, faith in an echo of a command that underlined a quiet and potentially futile plea for him to return to her.

_I command you to heal yourself._

She allowed her hand to linger on his forehead before trailing down the side of his face, gently grazing his stubbled cheek with the back of her fingers, careful of the bruises and cuts that mottled his skin. Each one a testament to his loyalty and love to her. Everything he did for her carved into his body. The rawness of his actions reverberated against her chest, tears stinging as they began pooling.

Daenerys pulled her hand away, swallowing the lump in her throat and diverting her gaze to his hand from his face before the dam could break.

Two knocks pulled her from her thoughts. She heard the groan of heavy wood opening, though she did not turn immediately. Closing her eyes, she released a weighted sigh through her nose.

 _Leave me with him,_ she was unable to find the strength to voice her command however, too fatigued from fighting, from hurting.

"Apologies for the intrusion, Your Grace," came a soft voice.

She felt her shoulders slowly relax. Opening her eyes, she turned to see Missandei standing in the doorway, hands folded in front of her. The fire in the chambers reflecting the sympathy adorning her features as her gaze briefly flickered to the Jorah's still body.

"You have been here since noon, Your Grace," Missandei began, "though I understand just how valuable every second becomes when someone dear to you has been brushed by death." She paused, a brief invitation for retort. 

"I also know you well enough," she continued after a beat, a sad smile curving her lips as she noted the conflict brewing in Daenerys' hues, "to understand you would fight against any form of council that would tear you from Ser Jorah." Missandei chanced a few steps forward, gently grabbing her queen's forearm with one hand while softly entwining their fingers with the other, her eyes a tender plea - an an intimate act permitted only by the strength of their friendship.

"Allow me to draw you a bath and fetch you dinner. It will not take long, and you will be by his side once more before you know it. We can have the young maester keep watch and alert us immediately should he wake."

Daenerys tightened her grip on her friend's hand, her eyes flickering from Missandei's to the hearth. She knew her handmaiden was correct. Her stomach had been protesting, her body had been aching to be cleansed of the emotional and physical fatigue that had settled in her bones since the funeral, her blonde hair still held traces of mud and soot. 

She brought her gaze back to Jorah, concern furrowing her brows. 

No, that was silly of her. He would have a cow if he ever laid eyes on her grimly state. He always thought of her, never sparing a single one for himself. Even in his state, the image of him waking and asking if she was unharmed conjured a small smile on her lips. She could hear his encouragement and concern in his familiar velvety rumble, a voice that never failed to bring her waves of safety and comfort even if it was a simple projection in her mind.

_You must take care of yourself, Khaleesi. You are your people's strength._

She turned back to Missandei, a faint trace of tenacity in her eyes that was not there before.

"If you'd like, we could also discuss the brave and  _foolish_ men in our lives," Missandei said, an innocent jape that held a degree of honesty in her suggestion.

Daenerys nodded, a ghost of a smile on her lips as she stood with her friend's assistance. "It has indeed been awhile since you and I have discussed anything beyond politics. I do miss it. Give me another moment, and I will meet you in my chambers," she replied quietly as she placed her hand on top of the one on her forearm.

Missandei simply bowed and left the room to make preparations. 

She brought her attention back to her knight, her features wistful as she reached for his limp hand with both of her own, relishing the coarseness formed from his experience with the sword. It was no surprise how much larger his hand was against hers, a quality she found endearing.

Her thumbs smoothed over his knuckles, mindful of the scrapes before she bent down to press a lingering kiss on them. A reflection of his wordless farewell to her as he departed beyond the wall. 

"I will come back for you, my fierce bear. In the meantime, you _do not_ have my permission to leave," she whispered, her last few words wavering between a plea and a command.

Further down the hall, a soft smile graced her handmaiden's lips before she turned and rounded the corner to her queen's chambers. 

* * *

 

Dusk had finally settled its last rays behind the horizon as Daenerys stepped into the steaming basin, her body immediately reveling in the soothing sensation brought upon by the heated bath. Missandei stepped behind her to undo the braids before the dragon queen dipped her head beneath the water. She rose not long after, hands relinquishing her face of the grime and exhaustion before leaning back against the wood with a content sigh. 

Missandei breathed a chuckle at her queen's delight. "Are you well enough to get out already, Your Grace?" she jested, grabbing a hold of a sponge.

Daenerys scoffed, lifting an arm from beneath the waters for her friend as she scrubbed at the excess oils, conscious of the small cuts she sustained from the long night. "You urge me to break my fast and cleanse myself, yet you are quick to rid me as soon as I settle," she said, garnering another chuckle from her handmaiden. There was no malice behind her quip, their familiar banter was something she sorely missed as it was lost amidst her duty and the war.

She turned just slightly, giving Missandei room to maneuver the sponge up her arm and around her neck. "Would you have your queen leave under an unfulfilled promise?"

Missandei smiled. "Of course not my queen," she replied in between her work. "May I have permission to speak freely?"

"Always."

Her friend nodded in acknowledgement, though she didn't speak right away, the silence filled by the sound of material brushing against skin with the occasional snap from the fireplace. 

Missandei is one of her dearest friends. The years they had accumulated together only strengthened their bond, and Daenerys knew her recent actions did not slip by her handmaiden's eyes. Her gradual distance from Jon Snow. The extra bite in her attitude as of late. Her refusal to leave Jorah Mormont's chambers and her extended time spent by his side while he recovered. Her subtle withdrawal from her role as a conqueror. 

"How is he?" Missandei asked, beats later.

"Samwell says he will live as long as his wounds don't fester," Daenerys responded, letting her arms seep beneath the waters as she rested a leg on top of the basin.

 Missandei brought the sponge to her feet, working her way up the skin. "A part of you fears an infection...and worse."

Daenerys swallowed the truth of her friend's words. She did not respond immediately. Instead, she lowered herself a bit further into the tub as if it would shield her from the elephant in the room. 

Missandei sensed her discomfort, but did nothing to cease their discussion. The queen knew this was necessary, but Daenerys said nothing still, the war raging within her. It was an entangled mess that robbed her of the ability to formulate words she had kept locked away until Missandei's beckoning pried it open. 

"It's my fault," was the only coherent answer she could voice, the only way she could begin regardless of how vague it sounded. Perhaps only simplicity could answer to complexity.

She felt Missandei pause her administrations, worry furrowing her brows. 

"It's my fault," she echoed. Daenerys hated how meek her voice was growing. She had unlocked pandora's box inside her with three simple words and there was no way to close it anymore. She felt the full force of the storm, the strength behind it battered her heart with pangs of guilt, anger, hurt, betrayal - what she had allowed to fester for so long until it was nearly taken right in front of her.

She could feel the tears welling and she snared them behind her eyelids before they could spill, her breath hitching. But behind closed eyes, Daenerys would not find solace, only flashes. Painful reminders that flayed her entire being, almost as if the memories served as her punishment.

_"So how long has your manservant been in love with you?"_

_"He is not my manservant and he is not in love with me."_

_"You have a gentle heart. There are times when I look at you and I still can't believe you're real."_

No, she was not at fault. She couldn't be. The purity and organic strength of his love was too much for a girl who only knew Viserys' affection to comprehend.

_"You know I would die for you. I will never abandon you. I'm sworn to protect you, to serve."_

No. That is his duty. His oath. He swore his fealty to her and served as a knight should.

_"I have loved you."_

He had betrayed her. A ruler cannot and should not welcome traitors back in their favor with open arms, no matter who it may be. No matter how much it hurt.

_"Khaleesi, please. I brought you a gift!"_

He came back with Tyrion Lannister. A gift of knowledge, just as he had given her on her wedding day. Still, his betrayal was still a fresh and painful memory for her, so she sent him away no matter how much her heart protested.

_"Aōhor jaqiarzir ivīlībin imorghūlīn, jaqiarzus Dārȳs."_

He came back. Twice. He saved her. Once again. The pain became more prominent, searing her bones. 

_"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry-"_

_"Don't be. All I've ever wanted was to serve you."_

The agony reverberated against her body, ringing against her eardrums.

_"Tyrion Lannister was right...I love you. I'll always love you."_

_"I return to your service my queen, if you'll have me."_

  _"We should be better at saying farewell by now."_

She could feel herself sinking into the basin, the only out she sees is falling. Tears leaked beneath her lashes, spilling down her cheeks, the full force of what she had kept at arms length, what she had taken for granted, what she had ignored thinking she was protecting the both of them slamming against her from every direction. The truth and reality cutting deeper than any valyrian crafted blade. It sapped her strength to hide what she had been fighting on her own since the Night King was defeated, and what little strength she retained was used to cover her mouth in a futile attempt to mitigate her sorrow.

Lost within her own revelation, she failed to sense Missandei move behind her, dropping all administrations to wrap her arms around the queen's shoulders. Only her touch was able to make Daenerys realize she had been crying. Only then did she fully strip herself of her titles and lean into her best friend's embrace. She was tired of it all. Tired of hurting, of fighting, of losing, tired of the isolation, of having to stand on her two feet, of donning the armor of a conqueror in a foreign land where she was not loved.

_No one can survive in this world without help. No one._

Within Missandei's embrace, she released it all, turning her body and pulling her friend closer. Clinging to her as if she was the only one keeping her from drowning as the emotions she locked away finally took their breath. Her sobs muffled within the crook of Missandei's neck, her comforting croons falling on painful cries.

Minutes? Hours? Daenerys had lost all sense of time amidst her despair. Her shoulders had eventually softened their shaking, her breathing somewhat controlled. She mustered just enough strength to slowly pull away from the comfort of her handmaiden's arms. Her eyes sought Missandei's, red-rimmed from tears.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Don't be. No matter how long a ruler can stand, they will fall eventually regardless of how strong they are," Missandei said, a soft smile edging her lips, "and as one of your closest friends, I will be there to catch you so that you may not hit rock bottom. At least not alone."

The past few days felt like weeks of agonizing loneliness. Missandei's words at first felt foreign, until it had finally seeped into her that she still had someone she could trust. That she was still loved. That she was not alone. She simply needed that reassurance vocalized, needed someone to help clear the haze formed by the isolation in a land she was not familiar with.

 "...Thank you, Missandei," Daenerys said after a beat, her lips forming a smile that reached her eyes. 

Missandei gave her shoulder a brief squeeze. Her hand waved through the water to test its temperature. It still retained some of its heat, not lukewarm yet at least.

"When I had heard Grey Worm and Ser Barristan were ambushed by the Sons of Harpy," she began, "I was...shocked. Too shocked to process anything." She reached for the sponge she had abandoned on a nearby stool though, did not continue her administrations. "When I finally saw the Unsullied return carrying both of their bodies with wounds that were near-fatal, I..." she closed her eyes, pain molding her features. Daenerys placed a hand on her forearm, giving her the strength to continue.

"I paid my respects for Ser Barriston, but it was only when I entered Grey Worm's recovery chamber that I saw. The lessons that would never be taught, the words I would never be able to say to him, the voice I would never be able to hear again, the opportunity to show him my home. I saw a glimpse of death's brush and what it had painted: mercy. A second chance. A vision."

"A vision?" Daenerys asked.

"My feelings for Grey Worm have festered since our first language lesson together but..." she paused, her lip caught between her teeth as she attempted to formulate her thoughts. A brief pause and it clicked. Daenerys knew exactly what her friend was referencing and it felt all too familiar. The storm within her had long subsided, and the mere drizzle it devolved to lessened the haze substantially.

“Death bears no bias nor ill will. An organic neutrality of the world that takes as quickly and as suddenly like lightning. Regardless of whether it has taken or blundered, the shock that courses through that living soul, if merciful, will grant the ones it holds dearest what has yet to be seen...or should have been seen,” said Missandei after a moment of thought. 

The truth of those words sang in cadence with the complexity of Daenerys' feelings. She raised her brows, impressed. "Did Tyrion lend you another one of his books again?"

Missandei simply nodded before continuing, her free hand reaching beneath the waters to bring Daenerys' own above the line. "I am no ruler, Your Grace. However, I am aware that there are things you cannot risk revealing to your enemies. You do not have the luxury Grey Worm and I have. Love is the death of duty, and you must safeguard your heart and leave it open to the politics that will lead you to the Iron Throne."

The familiar pain she had just recently subsided began to simmer again, but Daenerys swallowed what it had formed, refusing to let it get the better of her again. She could feel it though, the strength she once had slowly but surely making her way back to where it belonged. Missandei spoke the truth, but it did not diminish the ache her new revelation provided.

She did not voice these thoughts however, and allowed her friend to continue, squeezing the hand she held.

"The point I am trying to make is that you know Ser Jorah better than anybody in this world. Actually, I have had very few opportunities to speak with him, but just based on those small moments, we both know he will always stand between you and danger. Time and time again, we have seen him defy what the world throws at him in order to protect you, to serve you. His affections for you is no secret, his loyalty is limitless and immortalized, but...he is not. He is still a man."

Missandei paused, a wistful smile gracing her lips. "I am in no place to dictate your heart, Your Grace. But I can see it clear as the plains in Essos...and I know you can too. As one of your dearest friends and closest advisor, I advise you to cross over and grasp what you see before it slips away as Daenerys, but level it before it crosses over the line as Daenerys Targaryen. I believe he deserves that much at least, and should harm ever cross his path again...he will know."

It hurt. Not as much as the anguish that formerly fought itself within her, but it was still painful nonetheless. She knew the truth behind Missandei's words bore its weight. This was the fate her heart resigned to once she had begun her quest to retake what was stolen. In the twisted game of thrones, love was but a weapon used against one another. With Khal Drogo, she had secured a Khalasar. With Daario Naharis, she ruled with the Second Sons. With Jon Snow, she had the North's strength. There was little to no room for purity, it was a weakness-

...No. No, not again.

She would not make that mistake again. 

She was a queen. She was the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons. She gained her titles with fire and blood. She ruled with a fury that brought fear against her enemies and a gentle heart loved by those she had freed.

A game between Westeros lords and ladies  _will not_ dictate her claim, her desires, her heart. 

Daenerys smiled, a silent form of gratitude as she gently urged Missandei to finish her task. The woman returned her smile and complied after a slight bow.

"I will break that wheel," she began, the vigor she had lost returning to her voice, "I will take the Seven Kingdoms not just with fire and blood, but with the very weapon they deemed powerless for centuries." Her gaze remained on the window that gave view to the full moon, steeling itself. She absorbed Missandei's wisdom and her newfound resolve, allowing it to feed the fierce dragon lying dormant beneath her former turmoil until it began to stir.

Love is a double-edged sword, and Westeros had only seen its blunt side.

" _I_ will show them its cutting edge - love empowers duty."

* * *

 

The next morning, Daenerys returned to Jorah's chambers with a plate of breakfast and a goblet of water, placing them on the wooden desk next to his bedside. She dutifully fed the fire more wood before claiming the seat she had slept in the previous night. 

Taking Jorah's hand she allowed her fingers to rest on his wrist, feeling the rhythmic throb against her skin. Daenerys knew he was strong, but having a physical reassurance that he was still tethered to this world - that he was real never failed to bring her a degree of comfort. It had become a routine at this point.

Content, she released his hand and brought the plate of food to her lap. Though sleep did not claim her well the night before, the resolve she had lost extinguished beneath her conflict had returned once more, burning brightly in her belly. Her heart felt lighter than before, and color had returned to her cheeks.

She briefly visited Jon's chambers as soon as she had woken and spoke of his true identity as promised, her mind clearer than ever. After moments of discussion, they both agreed that they would gather in the great hall and speak of his lineage with everyone together. The name Aegon Targaryen was too powerful a secret to be kept, and consequences for secrecy like that were too great a risk for either of them to take. They needed everyone to be on the same side if they wished to claim victory against Cersei.

Relief had washed over both of them as they had finally somewhat come to a resolution. She did not shy away from his embrace this time, and though the fire that once churned in their bellies did not burn as brightly anymore, there was a degree of familial comfort in its wake that they both savored. There was still much to discuss, conflicts to resolve, but it was a step in the right direction for both of them. 

A groan interrupted her brief reflection. 

Daenerys's plate nearly slipped from her lap.

She shoved it onto the table next to her, abandoning her protesting stomach in favor of the waking form in front of her, adjusting herself to whatever room was left on the cot as a sense of urgency and relief overtook her.

"Jorah," she breathed. Her hand went to his face as he stirred, careful of his injuries, her eyes worriedly scanning his face as he struggled to rouse.

It was almost as if the sound her voice had given him just enough strength. His eyes, those familiar ocean blue eyes she had dearly missed, flickered open and the smile that embellished the queen's lips was brighter than the dawning sun.

There was still weariness in his eyes, no doubt from his long rest. But she could see the strength that had concreted itself the moment his gaze locked on his queen. She found no words currently, and instead breathed a sigh of relief that mingled with a ghost of a chuckle, emerald hues flickering over his features. She noted the brief upward tick of his lips and he parted them in an ill attempt to speak, whatever words he had hindered by dry hacks that broke her wistful trance. 

Daenerys reached for her goblet and tucked an arm beneath his shoulders to help him sit up. She brought it carefully to his lips and he drank like a parched man in the Red Waste. 

She returned the cup to the table after he was done and gently laid him down again, her free hand lingering on his chest. "Don't get up," she said as if she had a sixth sense for his stubborn restlessness, a stern warning befitting a queen. "You need rest, and if you reopen any of your wounds, even the Old Gods will not protect you from a dragon's fury, Jorah Mormont."

She the rumble of soft laugh underneath her fingers - the exclusive sound a ballad to her ears - and the instant he regretted the movement when he winced. "I cannot promise you that, Khaleesi but I will do the best I can," he replied, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

"You can _and_ you will," she said, smiling at the use of her title that only he could make sound like home.

He returned her smile, a brief curve that could be easily missed. "As you command, my queen. Are you hurt?"

"No...no I'm fine. Thanks to you."

Her hand slipped from his chest to grasp his hand.

"How long have I...?" he left his words trailing as his fingers enclosed around her own.

"Four days," she said, bringing her free hand to his cheek, unable to to stop her affection-starved form. Her hand slid from his cheek to his forehead, brushing the hair back, his eyes drifting close as he breathed a content sigh.

"When you are well enough, we will travel to Dragonstone and regroup our army."

"What remains of us?" he asked, opening his eyes.

"Only a handful of Dothraki, not counting the ones guarding Dragonstone. Fifteen-hundred Unsullied."

She felt him shift underneath the furs. "Cersei's army grows stronger the longer we wait," he breathed, his biceps quaking as he strained to push himself up, "we must leave and regroup immediately."

She released his hand and immediately grasped his shoulders, halting his advances. "I said we will leave when you are  _well enough,_ " she said, the steely tone in her voice leaving no room for argument as she pushed him back down with a little bit more aggression than necessary.

He winced. "I suppose I deserve that." 

She huffed at his words. "Are all Mormonts this stubborn?"

"Are all Targaryens this ferocious?"

"Only when their bears don't do as they're told."

"Even if it would benefit the queen more than the other?"

"It does not benefit the queen more if her bear can barely make it out of his den."

"And if I could?"

 _Ugh._ "You can't and you won't," she finalized, "do not make me repeat myself again, Ser." Though a soft command, it still held left no room for further argument.

"Yes, Khaleesi,"  he resigned as she moved to adjust his pillow and furs.

There was no malice in their brief argument, simple back-and-forth japes only accumulated from years of being by each other's presence. Four days. Four days, up until yesterday, spent feeling alone and alienated. Her heart, though lighter and clearer, still starved of the affection she had dearly missed while her bear recovered. 

They sat in a comfortable silence, the snap of ember from the hearth occasionally filling the room as she held his hand - an act of comfort done so many times that spoke languages only they could understand - cherishing the feel of his calloused thumb running over her knuckles.

Eventually, she told him of Jon's true name, his true lineage. His connection to her brother Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark, how he was passed on as the bastard son of Ned Stark as a safety precaution. Jorah was just as astonished as she was when she first heard it. The boy was practically a wolf hide with dragon's blood.

She told him their plans to disallow the secret from festering any longer, and that they would gather everyone into the great all to discuss the truth moving forward, something he seemed to agree upon.

"An open discussion is always more favorable than a secret that could plant seeds of treason among our numbers. A wise decision from both of you."

"We will see how wise it is once the time actually comes," she says, her gaze shifting to their hands, "I have seen the way they look at him. It's the same look the people gifted me with when I liberated Slaver's Bay. Here, they look at me with such disdain, I..."

"Khaleesi," he shifted on the cot to better face her, "the people here are...different. Stubborn, as you said," a brief smile tugging a corner of his lips.

"They will not bend the knee so easily to foreigners. Jon may not be interested in ruling, but conquer them and they will eventually conspire against you. It is not easy, my queen, and it will take time, but take King's Landing first and rule. Allow the north to remain independent. Show them the world you wish to create with your strength and gentle heart, and _they will learn_ to love you."

_Love._

Her heart tugged at the last of his words.

"Just as you have..." she breathed, hitched from the emotion swelling in her throat, her eyes growing glossy as she interlocked their fingers together. It felt _right._ Like home. Like they were made to fit together.

"...As you always have," she whispered.

She would laugh at how she was able to stun the great Jorah Mormont into silence if she could. His lips parted but it was beats before any words came.

"Khaleesi, I-I..." he stammered, searching her eyes for any more words that could save him. Unable to find none, she watched him avert his gaze to the stone walls next to him. With this angle, she was able to see his red-tipped ears, his appearance curving her lips into a soft smile. His thumb continued running comforting circles around her knuckles.

"Y-Yes. Just as I have."

His affections were no secret to her or anybody. It registered with her that she was always on the receiving end of his feelings. Very rarely was he ever the one to receive.

He was shy.

She found that utterly endearing. Or had she always?

Daenerys would have to discuss with Jon about their future plans amidst a list of other conflicts that needed resolving. Jorah was right. She will break the wheel and show the Seven Kingdoms the world she wished to built. She will earn the love of the people, just as she had in Essos. 

But there will be time for that. For now, she simply wanted to put down her crown and savor the time she had her bear. To be with him.

Her free hand reached over to cup his chin, gently turning him back to face her. 

"I have missed you," she breathed, his eyes growing wistful at her words and touch, "I was afraid I had lost you...again."

She saw the bob of his adam's apple as he swallowed thickly. "I have returned to your side as I did many times before, Khaleesi. I am here."

"And when will it be your last time?" she rebutted, strings tugging at her chest. "I sent you away...lost you, twice. Thinking I would never see you again. You came back both times, and you saved me the second. I was ready to take you back, to forgive you, until Greyscale tore you away from me again and the only thing that I could do for you was to send you away again to find a cure. I spent every waking moment on the odds of your return, tangled between doubt and hope."

Her breath hitched. "And that night, when you fought for me, shielded me..." her hand slipped from his chin to his binded chest where the blade had pierced, just a hair away from his heart.

It was growing more difficult for her to find words. She didn't want to relive that memory, but it will forever be a sharp reminder of what she had nearly lost, what she had kept away for so long.

She found it increasingly difficult to remain upright, so she released the hand entangled with his own, bringing it up to his hair, carding her fingers through it before resting on his stubbled cheek. She lowered herself until she was able to rest her forehead against his, delighting in the warmth of their breaths mingling with one another, his natural scent, the way their noses touched, her hair framing them and capturing their moment. The desire to press his lips against his and pour every ounce of her unlocked affection for him was overwhelming and their proximity didn't do them any good. It took every fiber in her being to give all of herself to him after coming so close to losing everything.

 _Not now_ , she echoed.

Her heart hurt, but it wasn't the same pain as before. No, this was different. 

"When I saw you fall..." she breathed, her bottom lip trembling as she was unable to finish recalling the moment the blood in her ran cold. She didn't want to see it again - but it was a permanent punishment she would have to live with.

This was different. It hurt because of how strong the pull was.

_"I am in no place to dictate your heart, Your Grace. But I can see it clear as the plains in Essos...and I know you can too."_

How raw it felt. Was this what he endured for her when she had pushed him away time and time again?

_"I believe he deserves that much at least, and should harm ever cross his path again...he will know."_

How scared she felt. Of loving him. Losing him. The strength in its entirety. 

"You know I swore an oath to you, Khaleesi." His hoarse whisper drawing her from her back to him. There it was again. His eyes were always the window to his soul. The clear adoration, the pure love he had for her. "If I had to do face it again knowing my fate, knowing you would live...I would."

Daenerys sharply inhaled at the familiar rawness of his affections. How had she been so blind to this? Was it always this painful?

"I will always stand between you and harm's way," he said, a hand lifting to brush the strand of hair behind the shell of her ear, "but you know this as well. Should the day come where I breathe my last breath protecting you, I would do so in a heartbeat. Forgive me, Khaleesi. I wish I could take away your fear, but I cannot promise you any guarantees that would not hurt you."

He breathed a short, humorless laugh, his lips twisting into a sorrowful smile. "But I have done just that without doing much, haven't I?" he said, a stray tear falling from her lids to his cheek. 

She had to fight it - the dam was leaking, but she couldn't. Not when she still had more to tell him. 

" _I_ am the one that has made us both - made you - endure so much," she replied after a deep, faltering breath, her tone laced with the affections she now fully faced.

The confusion etched in his features urged her to continue. "I command you to fight it then, Jorah Mormont. When death comes to try and take you away from me, fight it. Whether you are fighting to protect me, fighting for me...fight it. If you have sworn to give your everything, to die for me if need be, then you will give your everything to _live_. For as long as there is still breath in you, you will fight against whatever odds are pitted against you."

There was strength behind her words despite the sorrow her voice was afflicted with. It was selfish and cruel. There was still no guarantee underneath that facade, Daenerys knew this all too well and all she could do was believe in him. Jorah had been so adament, so resolute that he was prepared to die for her in the line of duty, that it almost seemed like he never considered _living_  as well. There were two sides to everything, neither with any guarantees - just hope and faith. And it tore at her heart thinking he had never spared that side a glance.

Always giving. Never asking.

"I'm sorry...sorry that it took so long for me to realize that you had always been bind to my heart, my bear."

She felt his quivering breath fan against her, as if he her words had been physically thrown at his chest.

Oh, but there was the familiar flame that began to burn in his eyes. The same flame of hope that she had ignited when he had resigned to his illness long ago until she commanded him to find the cure.

_When I take the Seven Kingdoms, I need you by my side._

It felt as though her command moments ago had been but an echo of the past.

He understood. The unspoken resolve gleaming in his eyes as it flickered between hers, the tick from his jaw. She had empowered him - just as he had done so many times for her before.

_If I must be my people's strength, then I will start with you, my bear._

Her eyes were briefly drawn to his lips, a gravitational pull she found _hard_ to resist. But she would not give in. She had taken the first step to her heart's need, but there were other things outside of that that needed a resolution first.

Her fingers traced the strength of his jaw as she bumped his nose with hers. 

"Missandei was right."

The confusion on his face almost made her falter, but she held steadfast.

"Khaleesi?" he murmured. 

She straightened herself a bit, offering him a soft smile that reflected just as much affection in her emerald eyes.

Daenerys doesn’t answer him, however. Instead, she buries herself into the crook of his neck, taking in every part of him - his scent, the short little hairs at his nape, the bandages that hid volumes of his loyalty. She clung to him, mindful of his injuries, pouring every ounce of the unspoken affection into her embrace.

_I love you._

She felt an arm carefully wrap around her midsection. Gentle, yet strong. Even now, her bear doesn’t force her, always giving her a choice. Her lips curved into a ghost of a smile against his skin.

_I'll always love you._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Lmao ok so the official wiki says she has like 4,000~ Unsullied post-Winterfell and I'm like...that's BS. So I cut the number down.
> 
> Aōhor jaqiarzir ivīlībin imorghūlīn, jaqiarzus Dārȳs. - I fight and die for your glory, oh glorious queen.
> 
> I hit writer's block so many times because my fragile heart kept wussing out, LMAO. Still not fucking over it, y'all. Also, this is my first fanfic in a decade. Legit. I KID YOU NOT. It's been 10 years. JAYSUS. I haven't written fanfiction since my teenaged ass was knee deep in an anime, l o l. So go easy on me. ~~If not, please use lube.~~
> 
> Also, my b. This shit got a lot longer than I initially intended. I didn't want to separate it into chapters.
> 
> ALSO, um yeah that last part with Dany and Jorah - It took me 2 beers to write that entire thing. Way too many fucking feelings lmao. Apologies again for any grammatical/spelling errors. W E L P.
> 
> I have an idea my second part to this. It's definitely sweeter (literally lmao) and fluffier than this one. Writing angst is so emotionally taxing. Y'all are amazing for being able to write that. I barely was able to finish this one. Lawd.


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